15. DEAN
Chapter fifteen
DEAN
WHY WE HAVE RULES
“Beaker Brothers Ranch,” I say, answering the private number after only a few rings. I’ve got one hand holding the phone, and the other wrapped around a rope tied to Chewie’s neck as the children from cabin two laugh and splash around him in the pool.
“Hi, I was wondering if you do events?” the woman on the other end asks. Her voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t pay it much mind what with Chewie thrashing about trying to pull me in with him.
“What kind of event?”
“A birthday, a child’s birthday. I was hoping we could do something with the cows, maybe?”
“Sure, I mean, we haven’t had a party yet, but there’s no reason why we couldn’t. If it’s the cows you’re after, I best grab Connor. He’s the man to talk to about the cuddle cove and all that.”
“Oh lovely, I was also hoping we could have some of the bigger cows there, too. She loves the large white one you have, and the donkey. Can the donkey come, too?”
“So your little girl, she’s been here before?”
“Oh yes, all the time, it’s her favorite place, and the only place she wanted when I asked her if she wanted to do something with her class for her birthday.”
“That’s nice. Umm, hold on one minute. I’m currently tied up by a wayward lama.”
“If I caught you at a bad time, I could call back.”
“No, no, just let me give this rope over and I’ll head on down to Connor.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I walk around the side of the pool and pass the rope to Sky.
“Can you keep trying? I’ve got a booking to handle,” I tell him, and he grabs the rope with a worried frown on his face. “You’ve got this,” I reassure him before stepping out of the pool area and heading toward the cuddle cove.
“So she likes Miss Milky, huh?” I ask with a little chuckle, seeing as the completely unoriginal name was actually given to her by me about ten or eleven years ago. She’s an American White Park and was the first livestock I purchased myself for the ranch. Gramps was so mad. He’d only just bought the Jersey bulls to start crossbreeding them with the Holstein and didn’t think she’d be good for milking. I didn’t care if she never gave me a bucket of milk, she was too beautiful to not be mine. But she was a rock star, and we only stopped using her for milking about five years ago. One of the dairy farms a few towns over has a couple of American White Park bulls, and Connor arranged for a trade. We sent a…sample, from Buckie, and they gave us a sample from their American White Park Bull. Now Miss Milky will be having her seventh calf, a pure American White Park, in just about three weeks. Even this far along, she’s just as cuddly as ever.
She spends most of her time in the cuddle cove, letting all the adults have a good squeeze while their kids chase around the mini-Highlands and baby goats and lambs. I’ll often walk past the cove on a quiet day and find Connor lying in the hay, leaning against her dozing in the sun.
“She’s been her favorite since the first time she visited,” the woman tells me.
“Well, Miss Milky is always up for cuddles, so I’m sure Connor can make sure she’s here on the day, too. I’m almost at the cuddle cove, I’ll just see if he’s free to sort everything out with you.”
“Thanks.”
I follow the tree line that hides the cove from the view of the main driveway. The trees also help reduce the noise and to keep the minis happy, and when I round the corner, I find Connor in the mini goat section of the cove chasing the kits.
“We’ve got a party booking on the line. Think you can talk through the details, sort out a date and time and all that?” I ask, opening the gate to the fenced section. Milky is in the far corner lying on a bed of hay and pops her head up the moment she sees me, and I swear I see her smile.
“Sure,” he calls back, climbing over the rail, and I pass him the phone and then leave him to it while I go see Miss Milky.
“How are you doing, girl?” I ask, running my hand over her head. The soft short hair glides against my palm, and she leans into my touch the way she always does. I wrap her head in my arms and squeeze tight. That’s probably the best thing about cows, they are like big dogs, but you can be super rough, and they are so strong it doesn’t hurt them. Also good because when you’re hugging something this fucking cute, it’s hard to control just how tight you squeeze them. “I’ll pop in with a treat later,” I tell her and head towards the stables.
“He’s all shooed and saddled up and waiting,” Atlas says when he spots me.
“Thanks, I owe you,” I say, heading for Buckie’s stall.
“Really well then…” he starts, but I hold out a palm toward him.
“No nude ranch weekend,” I say, and he laughs and heads back to doing his chores.
I find Buckie exactly where he said I would, ready with my tool bag, waiting for me to take him out. He was a gift from Gramps when I was seven. He was three when I got him, and even twenty-four years later, he’s still one of the strongest horses on the ranch. Nial, Alan, Kelly, and I all got horses that year, but Buckie was the best. He’s all black, except for one spot on his chest, and a slightly grey patch on his left flank. I sweep my hand over him, my eye catching where the hair sits differently by the scar on his left hind leg. It’s over a decade old and still the sight of it sends chills through me.
I’m checking the fences today, so I throw a spool of wire into the tool bag and grab an extra set of pliers off the wall and slip them into the side of my boot and climb on. The main fences that run the border of the paddocks are wire fed through thick wood posts, and sometimes the cattle or horses manage to kick out a post or the wire will break in places. The cattle don’t really care about getting out while there’s plenty of fresh grass, but before the dry, we’ll have to go round and replace a few of the older wood posts with metal ones to make sure it’s fully secure. But that’s a future Dean job. Today is an easy afternoon ride with my favorite horse. We ride past the pond, and I find Skye soaking wet, leading Chewie away on a rope.
“Nice to see things around here are as normal as ever.” I laugh.
“One day I’ll get him out without falling in myself.” Skye laughs, and I continue on.
We ride along the fence line, checking for damage. Up ahead the wire has gone a little slack and then I spot a few loose posts. I’ll need to send a message off to Perry so he can come down and swap them out. Fuck. I don’t have my phone. I gave it to Connor to make the party booking. Bloody hell.
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Buckie?” I say, slowing him to a trot and rubbing the side of his head. I hate the idea of being out here without a phone, but I’ve only got about a mile to go until we’re back. I make a mental note about the posts and keep trotting, checking the fences, pulling on the ropes we set up that unlatch and swing open the gates that separate each section of trail. This trail loops all the way around the property. The bull paddocks are also set on the outsides, a natural deterrent to unwanted trespassers. Most of our bulls would probably let a person pass through unharmed, but we’ve got a few grumpy bulls like Brutus that will charge if they spot someone not supposed to be there.
I edge up on Brutus’s pen, craning my head to try and spot him. He’s usually hanging by the collection of trees in almost the middle of his paddock. They’re tall, and offer great shade, and don’t normally block our view of him. But today I can’t see him anywhere. I go to reach for my phone again.
“For fuck’s sake, okay, how about we pick up the pace?” I ask Buckie and give a flick of the reins. He instantly reacts, moving into a canter. I keep scanning the paddock for Brutus. Something isn’t right. He’s not a large bull, but he’s usually pretty easy to spot and his paddock doesn’t have nearly as many places to hide. The grass is getting a bit long in parts, though, so he could just be having a lay down over a crest that I can’t spot him. I am doing everything to reason with myself that this is the case when Buckie rears up suddenly. I’m thrown back and hit the ground hard, all air is knocked out of my lungs with a painful burst.
“Buc—” I try to say, but my voice won’t work. He rears up again, stepping back and then stomps on my leg, I’m sure I hear a crack as pain shoots through it, a red-hot fire that finds my voice and sends it screaming out across the field.
“Fuuuuuuck!”
My eyes move past Buckie to where a section of fence has come down, a large tree branch has taken it out, and blocking the path is Brutus. If I hadn’t been so worried about finding him in the pen, I would have seen him and been able to control Buckie before he was spooked.
“Buckie, it’s okay, boy. It’s okay,” I say, through gritted teeth as I drag myself to the side and out of his path. Just as I swing my definitely broken right leg across, Buckie spins and bolts the way we came, leaving me alone in Brutus’s line of sight.
“Fuck.”
Brutus snorts and turns a little on his side.
“I know you’re a big boy; we’re all friends here,” I say, hoping my voice is soothing instead of aggravating. Nial would say my voice is always aggravating. My chest aches with each breath, and my heart is beating so fast, but thankfully the pain in my leg is being hidden beneath layers of fear and adrenaline. Why didn’t I wait for my phone? Fuck. Okay, Atlas knows I was taking Buckie out, and the trail loops back around, but there are the gates, Buckie can’t get past them. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe when I’m not back they’ll come looking? But how long might that take? Dark red seeps through the fabric of my pants and there’s a significant lump. Fuck, I think that’s my bone. I really can’t be out here long.
Brutus shakes his head.
“Look, I don’t want to be out here anymore than you want me here, but to be fair, old fella, you’re on my side of that fence. So how about you hop back over to your side, and I’ll just slide on through?” I say, unclasping my belt and pulling it free. I loop it around my leg, grab a short thick bit of wood to bite down on, and then pull the belt tight around my thigh to help slow the bleeding. White hot pain shoots through my shin and up my body. The wood does nothing, and I scream louder than ever before, sure I’ll pass out any second, but I don’t. Brutus makes a sort of huff noise and then moves a step to the side; only then do I see that the wire from the fence is around his ankle. He couldn’t charge me if he wanted to, but he also can’t get himself free either.
I must be fucking barking mad to even be thinking of getting closer to him, but I won’t get past him if he isn’t back in his pen, and he can’t get back in his paddock trapped in the fence.
“Oh you poor boy. Just take it easy. I’m going to try to get you out of that mess, then hopefully, I can get myself out of this, too,” I say, pushing up on my palms and dragging myself slowly closer to him. I keep as close to the fence as I can as I go.
“I’m just going to help you, old boy. You can trust me, you know me, we’re old friends. Remember, Brutus, old boy,” I say, trying not to make eye contact and inching closer and closer. I keep sight of him in my peripheral and listen for any snorts or grunts, but he doesn’t even stomp his foot. The closer I get, the calmer he seems to be, and when I pull out my pliers, thanking god they were in my boot and not on the saddle bag with the rest of the tools, he lowers his head slowly and flattens his ears.
“That’s a good boy. We’ll get you out of there,” I say, sliding the pliers under the first wire. I clip it and quickly move on to the second, careful to reach around to clip where it’s off his skin. He’s been stuck for a little while at least, given the depth the wire has dug into his skin. We’ll need Preston up here for sure to check on him, maybe even give him a few stitches.
“Just one more.”
I clip the last wire and quickly pull it away from his ankle. He snorts at the pain, but then he must realize he’s lifted his foot and turns and heads back inside his pen. He’s not putting much weight on that leg, but at least he’s free. Now it’s time to get me home and probably to the hospital. Except it will take me forever to keep making my way around, dragging my leg along the trail. I could try to fashion some sort of crutches with sticks, but there’s not a great deal around, and the ones on this branch would need a saw to cut through. I drag myself past the broken fence over the branch that took it out and then heave myself up on my good leg. It takes all my resolve not to scream as the blinding pain spreads through me. I can see the top of the barns from here. It would be quicker to go through the pasture. But then my gaze lands on one of the signs I have strung along the fence lines that say, “If you climb the fence, you better make it across to the other side in eight seconds because the bull can do it in ten.”
“I hope you weren’t thinking of dragging your ass across the field,” Nial asks, and I spin my head to find my younger brother on top of my favorite horse.
“I reckon I could have made it,” I lie, and he jumps down and rushes to me. “Brutus is running a bit slower today.”
“You look like shit, brother,” he says, looping my arm over his shoulder and helping me over to Buckie. My favorite horse dips his head in an apology, and I give him a rub.
“I know you were just scared. I’m okay,” I tell him, and Nial scoffs.
“How are we going to get you up on Buckie?”
“Down, boy,” I say, and Buckie takes a second, then lowers himself to kneel.
“When did you teach him that?”
“Years ago. I don’t get him to do it though because it’s not great for their joints, but if you help take my weight on your shoulder he should be fine to get back up just this once.”
“Cool, okay, take it easy. On you get. Right, now how do we get him back up?” Nial asks, crouching beside me, my arm slung over his shoulder.
“Up up, boy,” I say, and after a little wobble, and Nial making a pained “oomf” noise. We’re up.
My leg swings, and I cringe against the pain.
“Good boy Buckie. Thank you, I promise, I won’t ask you to do that again,” I tell him stroking his mane.
Nial climbs on properly behind me and I grab the reins.
“Hey, Atlas,” Nial says from behind me, and I faintly hear Atlas’s voice on the other end of the phone.
“Call Doc Green. Dean’s fucked up his leg. We’re on our way back.”
I twist my head to the side.
“Tell him Brutus needs the vet, too, had some wire wrapped around his leg that cut pretty deep. Oh, and tell Perry the fence is down on the back of his paddock and there are two loose posts by the big oak on the back trail.”
“Did you get all that?” Nial asks, and I hear Atlas say “Yep, on it,” before Nial hangs up the phone, grabs the reins, and kicks Buckie into a trot.
“So how did you get to me so fast?” I ask.
“I was already on the trail walking the guests from cabin three around when Buckie came on us. I called Skye to meet them and came looking for you. Didn’t expect to find you contemplating a bull run, though. Why didn’t you call?”
“Connor has my phone.”
Laughing, he says, “Gramps is so going to hear about this.”
“No, he fucking isn’t.”